starved at the root (don't taste the air)
by BiblioMatsuri
Summary: Not too long ago and not that far away, there were two young men who were as close as brothers. One of their stories ends in triumph, the other in tragedy - in love and regret, or in betrayal and hate. ...This isn't either of those stories. This is what happened before. (Written for Phanniemay15 over on tumblr. Title from Cynic's "The Unknown Guest")


It was cake-balls o'clock in the morning, and his roommate would not let him sleep.

Now normally, this was no great hardship. They often collaborated on projects, fighting the clock and taking turns fetching refills of terrible coffee. According to the Official House Rules posted by the entrances and stairwell the cafeteria closed after ten PM, but no one gave a foam cake about that rule, including the building manager who never bothered to lock the tenants out.

Unfortunately, it was Tuesday. He had an engineering class at seven-thirty in the morning on Tuesdays, and the professor was a dried-up old crust with the most boring lecture voice in the history of the universe. Vlad needed to be rested, or at least not tired enough to fall asleep on his notes. And Jack's terrible, outdated, I-don't-even-want-to-know-what-genre-that-is in-name-only _music_ was not helping!

Vlad pressed the pillow down over his head. Perhaps if he pressed hard enough, he might suffocate and put the world out of his misery.

Just as he was finally starting to drift off, his well-earned rest was cruelly torn away. Jack ripped the pillow off his head and leaned over the bed, eyes big and wobbly as teacups. Agh.

And then he started blathering on about his ridiculous project, about how he was going to prove the existence of obviously fake supernatural beings he was going to be the first to explore a new world and things were going _so well_ with Maddie. (Double-fudge death-by-chocolate _sugar_.)

"Jack, why in the name of soft pretzels do you keep bothering me in bed?"

 _Then_ he woke up enough to realize how that sounded. Vlad reached up, stole the pillow back and covered his face with it. "Go away."

"Aw, Vladster-"

He quashed the urge to punch the presumptuous pain-in-his-neck. Vlad knew perfectly well that he was a twiggy nerd, and Jack was secretly part brick wall. He let the pillow drop and glared up at his friend (somehow) and did his level best to set him on fire with the mere force of his gaze. Sadly, and naturally, it didn't work. "What do you want, Jack?"

"Ah! Um, well…" And here, Jack did the sheepish-grin rub-back-of-neck thing that generally preceded his asking for a favor. "I know you've got your own project to work on and all, but could you just take a quick look at my calculations? I know I double-checked it, but I don't want Maddie to think I'm stupid."

Well. If Jack actually thought he might show her anything but utter confidence in his largely fictitious skills, then it must be lo- li- affection. That, it.

That.

"A 'quick look', you say? If the last five, seven – _every time_ you've asked me is any reliable measure, and I do believe it is, then I'm going to need an hour just to translate your nonsensical codes into proper shorthand. And I'm not even going to _mention_ your near-illegible penmanship."

"Aw, Vladdie. You know that's only if I have to write cursive, and I'm getting better. Last week, you said one of my ess's was nearly acceptable!"

"And I regret every word." Internally sighing in resignation, Vlad wrestled his way out from under the blanket. (It was a soft blue, with tacky little green slime-ghosts on it. …he really did need to get his laundry done, the sooner the better. Perhaps Jack would be willing to help carry the basket.)

Jack clapped his hands and skipped back to the desk. His weight shook the floor, and Vlad heard something fall off a shelf. Fudge it. As long as nothing was broken, it could wait.

Vlad picked his way along the floor, shuddering as one sock-clad foot brushed against a half-rotten _something_. …ugh, he really hoped it was only the earthly remains of last Thursday's pizza. The other possibilities were just too disgusting to contemplate. "Jack! For crying out loud, I'm your roommate, not your personal maid. Stop leaving your leftovers to rot, because I am not picking them up!"

"What was that, Vladdie-o?" Jack looked up from his notes, the end of his pencil still in his mouth. Vlad could see tooth marks down almost to Jack's fat fingers.

Vlad quashed the urge to punch Jack in the face for the second time since this latest rude awakening. He didn't know (or want to know) where Jack had been, and besides he'd just hurt his hand trying. "Just, just budge your truck-sized rear end out of my way so I can see."

Obligingly, Jack leaned away. Vlad moved into the vacated space and began to rifle through the open notebooks, the messy blueprints, the endless sheets of loose scrap paper scrawled all over with incomprehensible doodles and Jack's childlike block-print handwriting.

Inwardly, very very deep inward where no one would ever see, Vlad was just the tiniest bit jealous of Jack's mind. Not of Jack's intellect, that he could more than match with hardly any effort at all. And the average house cat had more common sense. His creativity, though, the sheer boundless inspiration that went into everything the fool put his mind to – even the simplest and most mundane assignments were taken on with the enthusiasm saner minds would save for truly useful projects. Designing an effective rifle sight, or brainstorming a more efficient dispersion system for tear gas, or even repairing a household appliance would have been so much more productive than wasting time and work on this – this folderol, this _useless rambling_ predicated on unproven formulae and untested proofs.

"So what do you think, V-man?" Jack beamed down at him, an excited toddler bringing Papa some clumsy work of art for the first time.

Vlad bit back most of his scathing criticism, because Jack was such a _child_ and it would hurt less to humor him. "It- it isn't complete nonsense, I suppose. You've made good use of Werther's Lesser Proof, and you at least had the sense to use the Spengler-Stantz Scale instead of that ridiculous exponential scale your sponsors came up with. However…"

"And?" Jack smelled like spray-cheese, coffee, and eau d'unwashed idiot. What a wonderful discovery.

" _However_ , your reasoning is full of holes. Look at this-" Vlad plucked a half-finished blueprint off the desk, holding it loosely pinched on one corner. "Jack, why on Earth is this a circle?"

"'Cause I like circles! And because a cylinder has lots of surface area on the ends." He grabbed the blueprint and jabbed at some of the incomprehensible notes written around the diagram. "It's supposed to be a tunnel, see? Tunnels are round."

Vlad rolled his eyes. "Yes, if you want your _very heavy_ metal tunnel to collapse as you're building it. Steel plate over a steel skeleton, plus insulated wiring and an internal computer – Jack, do you have any idea how much this would cost? Exactly how do you plan to make this on a four-and-a-half-thousand-dollar budget?"

Jack's smile stretched even broader. His eyes twinkled.

Vlad rubbed his face with one hand, the other tucked into one pocket. Oh biscuits, he'd slept in his jeans again. He was going to look terrible in class tomorrow. Oh, what did it matter? It wasn't like anyone would care. And the clock read twenty past five AM, so he wouldn't be getting any more sleep anyway. "Jack."

"Vladdie!"

" _Jack_ ," he gritted out, pulling his free hand out of his pocket and forming a fist. It wouldn't do any good, but perhaps he would be permitted to sleep tonight. Ha. What use was sleep to Jack Fenton, who ran on a perpetual supply of good cheer and savant's brilliance and sugar-laden junk food? So of course no one _else_ needed it.

…will wonders never cease, the lummox actually gave him a bit of space at that. He was going to have to remember to use that tactic when he wasn't dead on his feet, so he could actually enjoy it.

"As I was saying, before you so rudely interrupted me-"

"Yeah?"

"-I categorically refuse to participate in your frivolous acts of make-believe, no matter how profitable such a lure might be in the long run."

Jack's smile did not quite invert, but the corners were drooping.

"But as per our standing arrangement, I will of course procure any further funds necessary to bring your current endeavor to fruition, whatever that may be." Vlad could not quite smile at this point, but he made a point of smoothing out his scowl. "After all, you'd do the same for me."

More pertinently he _had_ done so, working two menial jobs on top of a full course load for a month to make up for Vlad's most recent spectacular firing, which of course occurred right before a much-needed payday. If not for Jack's efforts, they both would have been out in the street in February. Somehow, Jack had even managed to stay on top of his course work with only minimal tutoring. Perhaps it was simply that he'd been too exhausted from working to get distracted, or perhaps he really did have a functioning brain somewhere in that thick skull of his.

Faced with such such pure intentions and such thoughtless loyalty, giving without strings attached… He could do nothing more or less than repay it in kind. Even if that meant helping Jack with this ridiculous project-

"Well, that's great, little buddy! And hey, I bet Maddie will be glad to see you around. It's great that you guys are getting along so well.

-and putting up with his unparalleled bouts of utter idiocy.

"Yes, Jack. I hope so, too." He said it through his teeth, but it was not a lie. He did hope that his dear, sweet, perfect paragon of loveliness Madeline would be happy to see him…

"YES!" Jack gave him a friendly clap on the back (ow, d- _gingersnaps_ , that hurt) and dived back into his pointless rambling explanation of nonsense non-science. Vlad did not want to know how the Spengler-Stantz Scale was rated, or what it measured, or even that it existed. The things he did for f- for his friends. Friend, singular. But that was enough.

It would have to be, since no one but Jack seemed able to recognize his intellect and potential for what it was. If his so-called betters continued to dismiss him, then he only had to surpass them.

Jack's inevitable disappointment when the – what did he call it, Fenton Proto-Portal? Ugh. And Madeline actually dared insinuate that he had ego problems. It was ridiculous how Jack insisted on putting his name on every last one of his patents, whether or not they could even be built; anti-gravity technology, ectoplasm-powered weaponry, a perpetual motion engine…

Really, this entire situation was ridiculous.

"Hey," Jack whispered. Well, whispered by Jack Fenton standards, which was just barely quieter than a shout by any sane person's measurement.

"Yes?" Vlad replied, eyes fixed to the paper, numbers dancing in his head. If nothing else, he could find work doing taxes.

"Thank you."

Vlad looked up, surprised.

"I just mean… I know I don't say it enough, buddy, but I'd really be up a creek without you. I can't even remember how many times you were the only one who remembered that rent was due or, or that I had to go do laundry 'cause I had a job interview or something, so. Thanks."

Strangely, Vlad thought he felt a little lighter – not by much, perhaps a feather's worth, but it was a burden halved all the same.

"You're welcome, Jack," he said wearily. "Now help me help you and tell me what the devil's food cake this says. I can't read this at all. It looks like a toddler got into your materials and scribbled all over your notebooks. Oh, wait…"

Jack groaned. "Aw, Vladdie, I wrote that weeks ago. I don't remember what it says."

"Then you should have taken better notes. Now pull up a crate, sit still and translate. In the meantime, I'll get started on estimating your current expenses. Then I'll see where you can cut costs without compromising too much structural integrity." It wouldn't make a difference either way, not that he was tactless enough to say that to Jack's face.

"You're a real sport, V-man."

"Stop calling me-!"

"What was that?"

"…never mind, Jack." It could be worse. He could have been stuck with a truly unpleasant roommate, or not found anyone at all willing to split the rent on this shoebox. He could have gone slinking home in disgrace, the proverbial beaten dog with its tail between his legs. Fudge, no.

No, better to keep his complaints under his hat. Heavens knew he'd driven off enough potential associates with the sharp side of his tongue. In the end, his favorite thing about Jack was how aggressively inoffensible he was.

In the long run, this fairytale nonsense wouldn't matter-

Somewhere outside, an alarm went off. "Jack, shut the window. It's irritating me."

-so why not play along?


End file.
